Scarface: The Novelisation
by TheComfortInBeingSad
Summary: Does what it says.
1. Sheep and Sanatoriums

_In May 1980, Fidel Castro opened the harbour at Mariel, Cuba, with the apparent intention of letting some of his people join their relatives in the United States. Within 72 hours, 3,000 U.S. boats were headed for Cuba. It soon became evident that Castro was forcing the boat-owners to take back with them not only their relatives but the dregs of his jails. Of the 125,000 refugees that landed in Florida, an estimated 25,000 had criminal records._

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Castro stood atop the high podium as he delivered his speech. "They are unwilling to adapt to the spirit of our revolution," he was shouting in Spanish. "We don't want them! We don't need them!" The crowd gathered in the square cheered in approval, waving large homemade signs showing their love and dedication for their leader above their heads. Castro surveyed them emotionlessly.

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Thousands of Cubans boarded the small boats that were to be their passageway to America. Armed Cuban guards herded the refugees onto the boats with megaphones. Young, old, it did not matter – everyone who wanted to was leaving Cuba for good. When the ships were full to the brim with passengers, all 3,000 of the cramped fishing-boats set sail. The children waved up at the escort of U.S. military helicopters as the fleet crossed the Straits of Florida. A young father spotted the American flag on the horizon and pointed it out to his 1-year-old son. As the boats arrived at the docks, their Cuban occupants cheered with joy. American soldiers directed them off of the boats where they were submitted to a weapons search before being shown into large tents, where small single beds had been set up for each of them. Most of the weary refugees, tired by the journey over but happy that they had finally arrived in America, fell asleep the moment their heads touched the pillows.

**South Miami Beach Docks, Government Office**

"Okay, so what d'you call yourself?" asked a government agent. His question was aimed at one of the many Cubans who had been brought into the nearby government-owned offices for questioning, a man of average build and height with short black hair and a nasty-looking scar on the left side of his face. He wore a blue and brown Hawaiian t-shirt.

A translator repeated the question in Spanish. "Antonio Montana," the man replied. "And you? What you call yourself?" He grinned widely, and the translator walked over to lean against the wall behind him, marking off something on a clipboard as he did so.

Where'd you learned to speak the English, Tony?" asked a second agent.

"In a school," Tony replied. "And my father, he was from United States." He pointed to the second agent. "Just like you, you know? He was a Yankee." Realising that more was expected of him, he continued. "He used to take me a lot to the movies, you know? I learned. I watched the guys like…Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney." He smiled again. "They teach me to talk. I like those guys. I always know one day I'm coming here, United States."

"So where's your old man now?" asked the second agent.

"He dead. He die. Sometime, somewhere."

"What about your mother?"

"She dead, too."

The second agent marks off something on his own clipboard before he speaks again. "What kinda work you do in Cuba, Tony?"

Tony shifted uneasily in his seat. "Oh, you know, things. I was, uh…this, that. Construction business. I work a lot with my hands. I was in the Army."

"Any family in the States, Tony?" asked the second agent. "Any cousins, brothers-in-law?"

"Nobody," Tony replied. "Everybody's dead."

"Ever been in jail, Tony?"

Tony looked shocked. "Me? Jail? No, man…no."

"Ever been in a mental hospital?"

"Oh, yeah. On the boat coming over." Tony grinned and watched as the agent walked behind him.

"What about homosexuality, Tony? You like men? You like to dress up like a woman?"

The agent circled Tony and walked back to the desk. Tony slowly turned to look over his shoulder questioningly at the translator/agent behind him "What the fuck is wrong with this guy, huh?" He asked, pointing with his thumb at the agent in question. "He kidding me or what?"

"Just answer the questions, Tony," the third agent replied. He walked over to the desk and placed his clipboard on it.

"Okay – no," Tony replied. "Fuck, no."

"Arrested? For vagrancy? Marijuana?" began the second agent.

"Never, man," was Tony's reply.

"Heroin?"

"No."

"Cocaine?"

Tony paused for a moment, and looked the agent in the eyes. Then he shook his head. "No."

The first agent walked around to Tony's left side and used his fingers to indicate his scar. "Where'd you get the beauty scar, tough guy?" he asked. "Eating pussy?"

Tony looked up at him. "How am I going to get a scar like this eating pussy, man?" He smiled again. "This was when I was a kid, you know? You should see the other kid – you can't recognise him."

"And this?" The agent suddenly lunged across Tony and pulled his right hand up so that they could both see it. Tattooed between the thumb and forefinger was a small love heart with a pitchfork through it. Tony looked at it.

"What, that?" he said. "That's nothing. It's from my sweetheart."

"Sweetheart, my ass!" the first agent said viciously. "We've been seeing more and more of these. Some kind of code these guys used in the can. Pitchfork means an assassin, or something." The agent let the hand drop and squatted down beside Tony. "You wanna tell us about it, Montana, or d'you wanna take a trip to the detention centre?"

Tony looked around at the three agents gathered in the room, and lied through his teeth. "Okay, you got me." he said. "I was in the can one time." He leant backwards. "For buying dollars. No big deal."

"That's pretty funny, Tony," said the first agent, standing back up.

"It's true," Tony replied, raising his eyebrows. "It was a Canadian tourist."

"Hmm – what'd you do, mug him first?" The agent looked up at the two men standing in front of him. "Get him out of here!" he shouted.

Tony realised what was happening just as the second and third agents yanked him to his feet. "So I fuck up!" he yelled, fighting to free himself from his captor's hold. "Let me talk to this guy." He said. "Please! Let me talk to him a minute." He succeeded in freeing himself and began talking to the first agent. The others stood on either side of him, ready to grab him if he tried to run.

"You a communist? Huh?" Tony asked the first agent, who he realised was the commanding officer because of the ID badge slung around his neck. The officer stared at him.

"How'd you like it?" Tony continued. "They tell you all the time what to do, what to think, what to feel. D'you wanna be like a sheep? Like all those other people?" He began imitating a sheep – "Baaah! Baaaah!"

"I don't have to listen to this bullshit!" exclaimed the commander, sitting down at his desk.

"You wanna work 8, 10 fucking hours?" Tony shouted, "You own nothing, you got nothing? D'you want a _chivato _on every corner, looking after you, watching everything you do? Everything you say, man?" He paused for a moment. "Do you know I eat octopus 3 times a day? I got fucking octopus coming out of my fucking ears!" He slapped his hand against his ear a couple of times to elaborate on this point. I got fucking Russian shoes, my feet's coming through! How'd you like that?" Tony lowered his voice. "What d'you want me to do, to stay there and do nothing? I'm no fucking criminal, man. I'm no _puta_ or thief. I'm Tony Montana, a political prisoner from Cuba. And I want my fucking human rights – now." He thumped his hand on the desk. "Just like the president Jimmy Carter says. Okay?"

The third agent walked over to talk to his commander. They both kept their eyes fixed on Tony. "Carter should see this human right. He's really good." He looked at the man beside him. "What d'you say, Harry?" he asked.

"I don't believe a word of this shit!" the commander replied. "They all sound alike to me. That son of a bitch Castro is shitting all over us. Send this bastard to Freedom Town. Let them take a look at him. Get him out of here."

Tony smiled as the agent came back to help the other one get him out. "Wait a minute, you know something?" he said to the commander. "You can send me anywhere. Here, there, this, that – it don't matter. There's nothing you can do to me that Castro has not already done -"

"Get him out of here!" the commander yelled again, and Tony was dragged from the room before he could finish.

**Government Bus #1157, Interstate 95**

The bus had no air-conditioning. Tony had realised that as soon as he had stepped inside. Even with the windows rolled down as far as possible, the temperature stayed at around 60 degrees Celsius. Amongst the scorched Cubans sat Tony and his friend Manny. Manny wore a burgundy jumper with the sleeves rolled up and as always had his hair slicked back.

"So?" asked Tony.

"So?" replied Manny.

"What'd you tell them?"

"I told them what you told me to tell them. I told them that we – I was in sanitation. They didn't go for it."

Tony looked at him blankly for a few seconds. "Sanitation?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Manny assured him.

"I told you to tell them that you was in a sanatorium, not sanitation." Tony acknowledged the bewilderment in his friends face. "Sanitation. Yeah."

"Wait a minute, you didn't tell me that," Manny said in confusion.

"No," replied Tony, "I told you to tell them that you had TB and you was in a sanatorium. You was cured."

Manny thought back for a minute. "When did you tell me that?"

Tony put his head back against the seat. "You should've kept your mouth shut," he said. "They would have thought you were a horse and let you out."

The bus drove on, drawing ever closer to Freedom town.


	2. Emilio Rebenga

_**One Month Later**_

**Freedom Town, Miami**

Manny walked casually through the crowd in a striped vest and bright red jeans, conversing with nearly everyone he saw. And that was a lot of people.

When he and Tony had arrived, they and the other Cubans were sorely disappointed. Until anyone could arrange for somewhere to live in Miami, their accommodation was to be what looked like a large campsite built underneath Interstate 95's main junction – a large area filled with large green canvas tents and surrounded on all four sides by a barbed wire fence. Both Tony and Manny had been desperate to find their way out of the ironically named 'Freedom Town' and into Miami – but unknown to Tony, Manny had found one.

Cuban music blared out of overhead loudspeakers as Manny approached a group of people playing basketball. Somehow they had managed to fix a basketball hoop up on one of the massive supports of the highway above them. Manny spotted Tony amongst them and called out to him. "Tony!" he yelled. "Montana! Tony Montana! Come here!"

Tony continued to play. He caught the basketball and was about to shoot when he noticed Manny. _"Qui pasa?"_ he asked.

"Come here, man," was Manny's reply. "I gotta talk to you."

Tony started to play again. "Come on, man, it's important!" Manny reasoned. Tony finally decided to see what his friend wanted and made a feeble attempt to shoot. He missed, and walked over to Manny, dripping with sweat.

"So close, man," he complained. Behind him, a confused Cuban tried to encourage him to continue playing.

"Leave him alone, okay?" replied Manny.

"I got better things to do," said Tony.

"You're chicken, man, you almost made it," said the basketball player, but Tony and Manny ignored him. He wandered back over to the game.

Manny put his arm around his friend's shoulders. "Are you ready for some good news?" he asked. "Are you ready for some good news, man?" He began to grin.

Tony's face was expressionless as he removed his sweatband from around his head and wrung it dry. "Sure, what you got, man?"

"We can be outta this place in thirty days, man," Manny began. "Not only that, but we got a green card _and_ a job in Miami." He waited for happiness to spread across his friend's face as he donned his sweatband again, "Now are we made or are we made, man?" he asked.

Tony's face was emotionless, but inside he secretly felt excited. A green card and a job in Miami, _in only thirty days_?!? Compared to Tony's recent luck, this was a miracle.

"What we gotta do?" Tony asked. "Got to Cuba and hit the Beard?" By the Beard Tony meant Fidel Castro.

Manny's grin faded to a smile. "No, man. Someone else."

Tony looked up at his friend in wonderment. "You're kidding."

"No." replied Manny.

Tony searched Manny's face for any sign of a lie. "You're not kidding?" he finally asked.

Manny's grin returned. "Guy named Rebenga, man," he said, "Emilio Rebenga."

"Rebenga?" Tony asked. "I know that name."

"Yeah?" asked Manny.

"He's political," Tony replied.

"Yeah," Manny agreed. "Well, he's coming in here today, man. Castro just sprung him."

As if on cue, a government bus identical to the one Tony and Manny arrived in pulled up on the sidewalk outside Freedom Town. The gates were opened and new refugees flooded in. Amongst them was Emilio Rebenga – Tony did not need to ask Manny who he was. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

Rebenga was dressed all in white – white trousers, white shirt, white shoes and a wide-brimmed white hat. He carried his white jacket and a file in the crook of his arm, and he clutched a brown leather bag in his left hand. Behind his large glasses, his eyes darted around nervously as he attempted to light a cigarette. The small white cylinder brushed against his unkempt moustache as he peered into the compound.

"This guy, man," Manny began, "Was one of the top dogs for Fidel in the early years. But Castro felt like he couldn't trust him anymore, you know, and threw him in jail. But while he was on top, he tortured a few guys to death. One of the guy's brothers is a rich guy in Miami now, and he wants the favour repaid. That's where we come in."

Tony turned away from his vantage point beside the main gate as Rebenga passed nearby. "It's ugly, man," he whispered.

Manny sniggered. "Yeah," he agreed.

When Tony spoke again, he was deadly serious. "You tell your guys in Miami," he said, "Your friend…it'd be a pleasure. I'd kill a communist for fun…but for a green card…I'm gonna carve him up _real_ nice."


	3. Libertad!

The following is the opening sentence from Miami's No.1 newspaper, The Miami Times, on the date of August the 11th, 1980.

_Hundreds of Cuban refugees began rioting this morning at a detention centre situated under Interstate 95 in North Miami, burning tents and attacking immigration and naturalisation guards with pipes, sticks and rocks._

All hell had broken loose in Freedom Town. Policemen and security guards thrashed their nightsticks against the fences at the rioting Cubans, who fought back with various fighting implements, yelling words of protest at the guards. Some of them were attempting to scale the fence and climb over to the other side, but they were being held at bay with a powerful water gun. News cameramen stood on the roofs of their vans, filming the carnage.

Emilio Rebenga had been trying to make a call in one of the many telephone booths along the length of the fence when it had all began. He had been swarmed by angry Cubans for the past 20 minutes, too terrified to move.

A Cuban climbed up on top of the booth beside Rebenga and was nearly over when a direct hit from the water gun forced both him and the booth crashing to the ground. Rebenga was debating whether he should make a move or not when a blonde-haired man forced him out of his booth.

Terrified, he started to push through the crowd, heading for his tent. A fat balding man suddenly appeared in front of him, moaning in pain over the cut in his head. Rebenga pushed him aside, and continued onwards … right by Manny, who had been pretending to cut a guy rope with his knife but had secretly been watching his target as he had hid in the confines of the telephone booth. Now he observed him enter a tent through its main entrance. Manny turned and cut through the weak material of its walls, looking inside.

Inside, rioters were bashing mattresses open with large sticks. Fires were blazing away in certain parts, and in the midst of the chaos, Rebenga was trying to get to his bunk. Manny followed him from a parallel aisle.

Rebenga narrowly avoided a large pile of burning rags as he half-knelt, half-fell beside his bed. As he scooped up his jacket and hat, he heard someone chanting, and looked up. On the other side of a bed frame being attacked by pipe-wielding rioters, a Cuban stood perfectly still, grinning maniacally. It was the basketball player, Angel Fernandez, and it was he who was chanting: "_Libertad! Libertad! Libertad!_"

Rebenga continued to gather his belongings, his eyes fixed on Angel. He had just drawn his files from beneath his cover when someone behind him cried out: "Rrrrrrrrebengaaaaaaaaa!!"

Rebenga turned to see Manny standing opposite the fire, sweat running down him, knife in hand. He began chanting, too.

Rebenga was terrified. His hair was plastered to his forehead, he was sweating profusely and his heart was beating at what seemed to him like 100mph. He edged down the aisle, constantly looking back over his shoulders in both directions to look at Manny and Angel. He began to beg for his life, still edging away. Manny and Angel ignored him and continued chanting. By this time, almost everyone else had joined in: "_Libertad! Libertad! Libertad!_"

Rebenga spotted the door ahead of him. If he could just get out of the tent, then maybe he could lose his attackers. He tried to run, but his legs felt like jelly. He had to use the bed frames just to help him walk. Looking back, he saw that Manny was now directly behind him. Both were showered in feathers as a rioter succeeded in bursting a mattress beside them: "_Libertad! Libertad! Libertad!_"

The door drew closer and closer. A chanting rioter attempted to grab him, but Rebenga pushed him off. Angel moved an aisle closer: "_Libertad! Libertad! Libertad!_"

Suddenly the door was in front of him. Rebenga risked a final glance backwards, to see if his pursuers would attempt to charge him as he left, but they just kept advancing slowly towards him. Rebenga opened the door and staggered through, into the safety of the crowds –

"Rebenga!"

Tony leapt from his hiding place behind the doorway and stabbed his target in the stomach. Rebenga grunted in shock.

"From a friend you fucked!" Tony whispered viciously into his ear, before pulling the knife out and running off into the crowd.

Rebenga dropped what he was carrying and clutched his wound. He walked hunched over into the crowds, his feet getting heavier with every step. A bunch of fighting rioters pushed into him, and he fell to his knees. He felt himself falling forwards and put his hands out to slow his descent. He hit the ground, rolled over, and died.


	4. Omar Suarez

Tony cursed as the plate he was washing slipped from his grasp for about the 20th time that night. "Fuck!" he cried.

Manny was operating a coffee machine and serving a bunch of fat Americans as he spoke. "_Qui paso_?" he asked, delivering the coffee to the correct customers. "_Qui pasa_, man?"

Tony and Manny's hopes had risen after the hit on Rebenga, their thoughts fixed on the job they would get in Miami. After they and their friend Angel had received their green cards, the two Cubans met a contact who had dropped them off at their new job – a snack bar opposite a nightclub. The billboard behind it declared it the LITTLE HAVANA RESTAURANTE, and depicted the area of Miami known as Little Havana, its large towers piercing up against a deep pink sky. Manny had accepted the job, but to say Tony was upset with it would be quite a large understatement.

"Your big shot friend better come up with something soon," Tony replied in answer to his friend's questions. "I didn't come to the United States to break my fucking back, man."

"Hey, he's coming, okay?" Manny shouted back. "What do you want from me?"

Tony swore first in Spanish and then in English as he dropped a plate yet again. "Fucking thing!" he yelled, smacking the dish tray.

"I told you," said Manny.

Their boss, a small, balding, fat man who wore a filthy white apron and (for some obscure reason) a chef's hat turned to Tony, and began talking to him in Spanish. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Manny started shouting at a customer complaining that her pannini was too cold. This was not turning out to be a good night.

An hour later, and the stand had shut for the night. Their jobs finished, Tony and Manny watched as an expensive-looking car pulled up across the road beside the club entrance, and a group of rich men and women got out. As Manny sipped an espresso, his eyes locked onto one of the women. "Look at that one. That one right there in the pink. She's beautiful, man. Look at those titties."

Tony looked over at her. "Look at that punk with her," he said. "What's he got that I don't have?"

"Well, he's very handsome for one thing, you know?" Tony turned to look at his friend. Manny tried to suppress a laugh, failed, tried again, and failed. Tony smiled and turned back to look across the street.

"I mean, look at the way he dresses, man," Manny pointed out. "That's style, flash, pizzazz. And a little coke money doesn't hurt nobody, you know?"

As Manny poured himself some more coffee, Tony looked down at the burn marks on the palms of his hands. "Look at this," he said, "Fucking onions." He paused. "They ought to be picking gold from the street," he sighed.

Suddenly, their boss appeared, coming from the direction of the parking lot. "Hey," he said to Manny, "There's two guys looking for you out there." Manny looked surprised, and then stood up, removing his apron. "That's him, man," he said to Tony, "That's _El Mono_. I told you." Tony could hear the excitement in his friend's voice, and stood up to go with him.

"Hey, don't stay too fucking long," their boss said as they were leaving, trying to sound threatening. "We've got a lot of work to do, so…." He pointed at them, and then walked off.

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Manny's contacts sat in a grey sedan parked up on the curb to the bar's side. Manny placed his hand on the roof of the car and leaned down to look in at them. He said hello, and then introduced Tony .

Looking in, Tony could see two men – one sat on the far side at the wheel, unshaven and chewing gum and the other was dressed in an expensive blue suit and black shirt, his black hair looking suspiciously dyed. Tony could tell by the expression on his face and the fact that he was dancing erratically to the Cuban music emanating from the car's cassette player that he was high. Manny introduced them to him.

"Tony, that's Omar Suarez," he said, indicating the man nearest them, "And that's Waldo Rojas over there." Waldo waved a hello.

"I got something for you," said Omar, smiling crazily.

"Yeah?" asked Manny. "What we gotta do?"

"Gotta unload a boat," Omar told them. "Marijuana. 45 tons. You get $500 each."

"$500? That's great," replied Manny.

"You gotta be kidding," said Tony icily.

Waldo turned to look at him. Omar shook his head, still grinning.

"$500?" continued Tony. "Who do you think we are, baggage handlers?"

Omar stopped smiling. He looked straight at him.

"The going rate on a boat is $1000 a night, man, you know that," Tony said.

"First you gotta work your way up to $500," Omar replied, holding up a small silver tube.

"Okay, what I did for you guys in Freedom Town, what was that? That Rebenga hit was a game of dominoes?"

Manny tried to step in. "No, man, that was something else," he said.

"Shut up! Take it easy," was Tony's reply.

"What's with this dishwasher, _chico_?" Omar laughed suddenly. "Don't he know we could have got some space cadet to hit Rebenga cheaper – 50 bucks!"

"Then why didn't you, man?" Tony retorted. "And don't be calling me no fucking dishwasher, or I'll kick your fucking monkey ass - "

For a few seconds, the conversation erupted into violence. Omar started yelling, put his hand into his jacket and was halfway through drawing a .38 when Waldo stopped him. Tony began yelling, too, but Manny held him back. "The Colombians!" Waldo whispered into his partner's ear. Omar considered this, looking up at Tony. Tony saw this and calmed down immediately.

"Okay, big man, you want to make some _big_ bucks!" Omar suddenly shouted. "Let's see how tough you are, huh? You know something about cocaine?"

Tony stood speechless.

"Speak to me!" Omar yelled.

"What, you kidding me or what?" Tony said quietly.

Omar allowed himself a small grin. "There's a bunch of Colombians coming in Friday," he said, "New guys. They say they got two keys for us, for openers. Pure coke. Hotel in Miami Beach. I want you to go over there, and if it's what they say it is, you pay 'em and bring it back. You do that, you got 5 _grand_!"

Tony looked at Manny. "Go, pay 'em, Bring it back?" his friend asked.

Omar raised the snorter to his nose and sniffed it twice, once for each nostril. "You know how to handle a machine gun?" he asked.

"Yeah, man, we were in the Army," Manny replied.

"You're going to need a couple other guys," Omar added.

"That's no problem," Manny continued. There was a short pause.

"Be at Hector's bodega at noon, Friday." Omar said. "You get the buy money then – oh, and _chico_ - " he said icily, pointing to Tony with an unlit cigar, "If anything happens to that buy money - " He said something in Spanish that Tony didn't quite catch, but Waldo cackled evilly at it – "My boss will stick your heads up your asses faster than a rabbit gets fucked!" Omar threw his cigar at Tony as Waldo reversed out of the parking lot, and the pair drove off into the night.

"We're scared!" Tony shouted mockingly after them. He stopped, looking at the car as it drove away.

"Man, that was dumb," said Manny. "You're pushing your luck."

"You worry too much you know?" Tony replied quickly. "You're gonna have a heart attack. You act like that guy's doing you a favour or something. " He began walking towards the road.

"W-What's this with the Colombians, man?" asked Manny, running after his friend.

"What does it matter?" he answered, undoing his apron.

"What does it – he says 'Colombians' and you make these eyes, like - "

"I don't like fucking Colombians, okay?" Tony suddenly said. They walked off down the road.

In front of the bar, their boss was sweeping the pavement when he saw his only employees leaving. Dropping his broom in surprise, he shouted, "What you guys doing? There's a lot of dishes to be washed."

"Wash 'em yourself," replied Tony, squashing his apron into a ball and throwing it at the panicking man. It hit him square in the face. "I retire," Tony said sarcastically.

"What the fuck you guys gonna do now?" the owner yelled after them.

"I gotta look after my investment!" Tony yelled back.

"Fuck you guys!" cried the manager, jumping up and down in sheer frustration. A few moments later, and Tony and Manny were gone.


	5. Angels In Heaven

**Southern Miami Beach**

Manny slowed the burgundy convertible to a halt as a group of women passed in front of him. He and Tony had rented it from a car company back in Little Havana, from where they had travelled to Hector's Bodega and received $10,000 in cash. Being himself, he immediately began to eye up the two young women in bikinis passing in front of him. "Look at those tits, man, she's begging for it," he said to the Cuban beside him, a 23-year-old immigrant called Chi-Chi, who had been one of Tony and Manny's friends back in Cuba and was the joker of the group. He had managed to earn a green card by himself, and was happy to accompany his friends on a small 'business trip'.

"Are you crazy, man?" Chi-Chi asked as he stared through his sunglasses at a group of old women starting to cross. "She's 103 years old!" he exclaimed.

"Not that one, man!" Manny corrected his friend, pointing out the pair ahead of them. "That one!"

In the backseat beside Tony, Angel stifled a laugh.

"Move the fucking car," Tony suddenly said viciously. The laughter stopped immediately.

"Okay, okay!" Manny exclaimed, before Tony could say any more. He looked over his shoulder curiously, wondering why he was so uptight. Unknown to him, Tony had decided to stay serious and alert until the deal was over. It was his first deal in America, and he was not going to fuck it up.

"Man, we're just staying loose up here, okay?" Manny reasoned, turning to drive parallel to the beach. "You gotta stay loose. You can't worry all the time, you're gonna have a fucking heart attack."

Chi-Chi looked up from admiring himself in his sunglasses' reflection. "Just play it cool, you know?" he added. "Miami Beach, man!"

"Miami Beach, man!" repeated Manny happily.

Tony heard all of this, but despite his friend's happiness, he couldn't help feeling worried.

A few minutes later, and the group were travelling down a road with the beach on their left and hotels on their right. One of these was the Sun Ray Hotel; a small, three–floored white building where rooms were only accessible by use of flights of staircases all down the hotel's left side. It was here that the deal was to take place.

Manny swung the car around in a lazy arc and parked across from the hotel, facing back the way they had come. He killed the engine, and then turned around with his friends to face Tony.

"Okay," Tony said, "The money stays in the trunk 'till I come out, okay? Me, nobody else." Manny and Chi-Chi nodded. They were the back-up.

"I'm not out in 15 minutes, something's wrong. Okay?" Tony continued. Again, Manny and Chi-Chi nodded.

Tony turned to Angel, who would be going with him to make the deal. "Room 9," he reminded him. "You ready?"

"Sure thing," Angel replied. His face was a mixture of determination and fear.

Tony and Angel vaulted over the side of the car and walked across the road to the hotel. Tony felt around the back of his belt to make sure his 38. was with him on this and was reassured by the feeling of the cold metal in his hand. He flipped the back of one of his many Hawaiian shirts over it (this one red and yellow) and began to climb the steps. At the second floor, he turned and ascended an individual staircase to room 9, where he waved to his friends in the car below. He and Angel attempted to look in through the front windows of the room to see who was inside, but the blinds were closed. Tony knew that this was customary of any deal inside a public building, but it would have given them an opportunity to see if the suppliers were planning an ambush, for example. He rapped four times on the door.

All was silent except for the sounds of the waves lapping gently against the shore and the occasional shout of children playing in the streets. Tony's heart pounded in his chest. He hoped the Colombians were nothing like Omar Suarez, the piece of shit.

The door opened.

A greasy-looking Colombian with a wide smile had opened the door. "_Ola_! _Ola_!" he said to them in Spanish. Tony took in the short-sleeved orange shirt and the striped brown trousers, but what he thought was the man's most distinguishable feature was his face. Tony thought it looked just like a frog's – the flatness, the beady eyes, even the small upturned nose. He disliked him immediately.

Tony put on a fake smile, looking from the now-visible hotel room to frog-face. The Colombian's smile faltered. "Enter, enter," he reassured Tony, who thanked him and stepped inside.

He immediately raised his arms and circled slowly – a basic weapons search. Frog-face saw this and mimicked him. Even though this form of search never really revealed any weapons, it was customary during a deal – a form of showing mutual trust. "Okay," said Tony, as he saw that the supplier had no weapons. "You mind leaving the door open?" he asked him, as Frog-face began to close it behind them. "So's my brother-in-law sees everything's okay?" he lied.

"Sure. No problem," he replied, smiling at Angel, who met his gaze emotionlessly.

Tony wandered over to the opposite side of the apartment and took in his surroundings. He had walked right from the door, passing a double bed as he did so, and now stood between a small TV set and the entrance to the bathroom.

"Hello," said Frog-face, facing Tony in front of the doorway. "This is Marta." He indicated a thin woman resting on the bed near Tony watching the TV, who looked remarkably like a small man in drag. Her head was propped up by her arms, which were on top of a couple of pillows. She stared intently at Tony.

"Marta, hello," said Tony. She resumed watching the TV without saying a word.

"I am Hector," the Colombian said proudly, drawing a cigar from his shirt pocket.

"And I am Tony," replied Tony bluntly.

There was an awkward silence. Both men wanted the other to make the first move – the slightest advantage and the deal could work to suit them perfectly.

"So…" Tony said eventually, "Omar says you're okay."

"Yeah?" Hector looked surprised. "Good," he replied, "Omar's okay." He smiled.

There was another short silence. "Okay," Tony said. He heard sirens wail behind him on the TV and turned to see that Marta was watching a police chase, ironically.

"So…?" asked Hector finally, rubbing his hands together. "You got the money?"

Tony clasped his hands behind his back. "You got the stuff?" he retorted.

"Sure I have the stuff, but I don't have it right here with me now!" exclaimed Hector, the surprised look returning to his face. "I got it close by," he reassured him, turning to smile at Angel.

"I don't have the money either, man," replied Tony coolly.

Hector stopped and frowned as he was lighting his cigar.

"I got it close by, too," Tony continued.

Hector puffed out a wisp of smoke, deep in thought. He smiled suddenly and pointed to Tony with his cigar. "In the car?" he asked.

Tony's face remained expressionless. "No, not in the car, man," he answered.

"No?" inquired Hector, obviously surprised that he had been wrong.

"How about you?" Tony asked. "Where you got your stuff?"

Hector frowned, then shrugged. "Not far," he replied. He smiled at Angel again, who looked down at the car. Chi-Chi watched as Manny managed to lure a blonde girl in a bikini over to talk to him.

The deal was going to shit, Tony thought. He had wanted to come in, exchange the coke for the money, and drive off. But this was not to be. This annoying, ugly Colombian had stashed the drugs somewhere and for some strange reason was stalling for time. Tony just wanted it to be over and done with.

"Okay," he said. "You want me to come back in? We start over again, man?"

Hector laughed. "Where you from, Tony?" he asked.

"What the fuck difference does it make where I'm from?!?" Tony suddenly shouted. He was getting angry.

"Take it easy, man," said Hector. "I just want to get to know who I do business with."

Outside, Angel heard Tony's outburst and moved closer to the doorway, his face the epitome of alarm. Unknown to him, there was now a 38. aimed at the back of his head.

Inside, the conversation continued. "You'll get to know me when you start doing business with me and stop fucking around," Tony said icily, now directly in front of Hector. "What's the story?" he asked.

That was when it all went to shit. The man behind Angel with the gun grabbed hold of his hair and jerked his head back, pressing his pistol into the back of his head as his _compadre_ ran up the stairs with a micro-SMG to ensure his capture. Fortunately, Angel managed to call out Tony's name before the two Colombians surprised him. Unfortunately, as Tony went for his gun and Hector leapt for cover, Marta pulled a recoilless rifle up from underneath the pillows and aimed it at Tony. "GET DOWN!" she yelled at him. Tony stopped moving immediately and dangled his gun from the trigger-guard with his finger, allowing himself to be grabbed by Hector who took his pistol and began searching him properly for other weapons. He snapped an order to the first Colombian (the one holding Angel) who marched his captive into the bathroom and began to tie him to the shower curtain rail. The second closed the door before standing guard beside it.

"You know, frog-face, you just fucked yourself," Tony said quietly, as Hector emptied his pockets onto the bed. "You steal from me, you're dead."

"Yeah?" said Hector viciously. He finished searching Tony and pointed the gun at him. Tony went limp as he was held against the wall beside the bathroom door, Marta keeping her gun trained on him at all times. The second Colombian walked by him into the bathroom and carefully placed some masking tape over Angel's mouth.

"Okay," Hector said quietly. "Are you going to give me the cash," he asked, forcing Tony to look in at his terrified friend as he was chained up by his wrists before jerking him back, "Or do I kill your brother first – before I kill you?"

For Tony, there were no hard decisions to be made. There was no way he could let these greasy Colombians keep the coke and run away with the money. Firstly, Omar's boss would be _quite_ upset, and secondly, he saw this as his one chance to get off to a good start in America. Sure, there would be other deals, but none would be as opportunistic as this.

"Why don't you try sticking your head up your ass," Tony said calmly. "See if it fits."

Hector kept Tony's 38. pressed against his jaw for a moment before standing to answer. "Yeah?" he said, barely managing to stop himself from exploding with rage. Who did this Cuban fucker think he was?

"Okay," he replied through gritted teeth, walking over to a battered-looking brown leather suitcase beside the door, his gun still trained on his captive. Tony looked over a Marta, whose was still aiming at him with the recoilless rifle from beside the window. He turned to look back at Hector, and froze.

Hector had opened the suitcase and taken out a large yellow chainsaw. He motioned towards Tony with it before pulling him into the bathroom. Marta crouched beside the TV and turned the volume up.

Down in the street, pop music was blaring from the radio. Chi-Chi was still dancing to it and Manny was attempting to flirt with the girl he was talking to. He spared a glance by her up at the hotel room's window, but seeing no activity behind the dirty glass he turned back to the girl. The windows were actually frosted, but Manny didn't notice. He was too busy complimenting his new friend on her beautiful skin.

Angel was terrified as he looked down at the roaring chainsaw in front of him. "Hey! Antonio!" Hector shouted over the noise. "_Mira_!"

Tony looked up from where he was being held on the opposite side of the bathtub. The first Colombian had wrapped a chain around his neck and was pressing a 38. into his cheek, while the second aimed his now-silenced micro SMG at Tony. He could see the terrible fear in Angel's eyes, and it sickened him to think of how they could have gotten into this mess in the first place.

"Watch what happens to your friend," Hector was saying. "If you don't want this to happen to you, give me the money, okay?"

Tony tried to jerk away as he realised that Hector fully intended to go ahead with what he was doing. The chainsaw roared louder as it curved slowly through the air towards Angel. Tony desperately tried to hide his face behind the shower curtain as the chainsaw ripped through Angel's arm as easily as one would rip a sheet of paper. Angel screamed in agony as his blood splattered all over the side of his face and everyone else in the room.

Outside in the convertible, Manny attempted to pull the girl in for a kiss, but she managed to free herself from his grip and walked off defiantly down the street. Manny shouted out in anger and looked back up at the hotel room, but failed again to notice the frosted windows in his rage.

Inside, a blood-splattered Hector examined his first cut like a butcher. "Now the leg, huh?" he asked Tony, smiling for a moment before re-directing the chainsaw (now drenched in blood) into Angel's leg. Blood spurted out of the wound and Tony took cover behind the shower curtain again, doing all he could to prevent Hector from gaining the satisfaction of seeing him burst into tears or go crazy with rage.

Angel Fernandez was most surely dead.

Meanwhile, Manny turned his wrist to look at his watch, which said the time was just after 12:35. It had been over fifteen minutes since Tony and Angel had entered the hotel. He began to tap Chi-chi on the shoulder but turned to see that he knew as well.

"Let's do it, man, come on," Chi-Chi said, putting on both his sunglasses and his bright orange hat.

Manny turned off the radio before opening his door and getting out, allowing Chi-Chi to slide over and exit as well. "We're all gonna be all right," he reassured Chi-Chi, checking that his SMG was loaded. There was a click as the clip slid into place in the weapon's handle, and the two Cubans walked over to the hotel.

The second Colombian tied a metal chain to a fabric bangle around Tony's wrist, looped it over the shower rail and Tony's other arm and pulled it taut, just like hoe he had tied Angel up. The first Colombian stood behind him with his pistol to his head as Hector brought the unmoving chainsaw close to his face. With the chainsaw in his hands and blood covering nearly every inch of his face, he looked like some sort of demon. "Okay, _cara cicatriz_," he said icily. "You can die too; it makes no difference to me."

Tony wasn't listening. He was too busy trying not to look down, forced to stand on Angel's mutilated corpse.

At the hotel's entrance, Manny sent Chi-Chi down the length of the hotel to cover the back before continuing up the front steps.

"Last chance, _pendejo_!" Hector shouted into Tony's face.

Tony emerged from his shocked stupor for a moment. "Fuck you!" he yelled defiantly, and spat in Hector's face. His head was jerked back viciously by the Colombian holding him. Hector stared blankly at Tony for a moment, before revving up his weapon.

Manny stopped outside the closed apartment door, drawing his weapon. He put his ear against the door and was horrified to hear a chainsaw revving. He stepped back and aimed his gun. He could not wait on Chi-Chi. He had to go in now.

Inside, Tony's face became devoid of all expression and emotion as the roaring chainsaw came closer to his face and Hector yelled something incomprehensible. He did not fear death. The only thing he felt sad he would miss was exacting revenge on every person in the apartment.

What happened next was extremely sudden and quick. SMG bullets shattered the floor-to-ceiling length door window into a million separate pieces all over the floor. Hector shouted in surprise and Tony seized his chance, snapping out of his trance and slamming the Colombian holding him against the wall. Manny stepped though the wreckage of the door and sprayed gunfire all over the small apartment. The picture above the bed was punctured. A bedside lamp exploded. Bullet holes appeared in everything, including Marta's throat. Before she could even raise her weapon she was thrown backwards onto the bed, blood pumping from her wounds. The second Colombian dashed out of the bathroom to kill the intruder only to be cut down as well, falling behind the bed. In the bathtub, the Colombian and Tony had switched positions, allowing Hector a clean blow. As he raised the chainsaw for a final swing, Manny arrived in the doorway. He fired one shot at Hector before he heard the telltale click informing him that he was out of ammunition. The single shot hit Hector in the arm, causing the chainsaw to flail wildly in his grasp. While Manny reloaded, the second Colombian, having survived the first attack with a shot to the chest as he had dived behind the bed, managed to sit up and shoot Manny in the shoulder. Manny fell against the wall beside the TV, crying out in pain. In the bathroom, Hector regained control of his weapon and dashed into the main room, right by his surviving henchman who was reaching for the recoilless rifle Marta had dropped. He ran over to the brown suitcase by the door and undid the clasps. Inside were the 2 keys of coke everyone was killing each other over, and a 38. He bent down to pick up the gun – and that was when Chi-Chi finally arrived. Both men stared at each other in shock and surprise for a moment, before Hector, thinking fast, threw the suitcase at him. Chi-Chi raised his arms to prevent the flying object from hitting him in the face as the Colombian with the recoilless rifle opened fire. Chi-Chi jumped back outside and Hector used the chainsaw to smash through a connecting door into another apartment. The woman inside screamed in terror as she saw a blood-drenched Colombian with a chainsaw run through her room and smash through the window, plummeting head-over-heels to the concrete floor two storeys below. Back in the apartment, Chi-Chi leapt inside while his attacker was reloading and put a bullet in his head. Simultaneously, Tony managed to best the remaining Colombian in their struggle for the gun, shoving him against the wall and shooting him twice. He leapt out of the tub and saw Manny lying against the wall with a tiny hole in him, groaning in pain, and Chi-Chi approaching them. He bent down beside his best friend. "You okay?" he asked him.

"Yeah, man," Manny replied. "It went in and out."

Hector slowly pulled himself to his feet. The fall had broken several of his ribs and his right foot. He could hear nearly everyone in the street screaming, but that was the least of his concerns. He had to get as far away from the cocky fucker called Tony. He had to get as far as he could from him before he came after him. Holding a hand to his chest, he limped excruciatingly down the stairs and out into the street.

Back upstairs, Tony heard the civilian's screams of fear and knew that Hector must have survived and be escaping. He got to his feet. "Get him out of here, quick!" he told Chi-Chi, who wrapped his arm around Manny's shoulders and began to lift him up.

As Tony walked towards the door, he stopped and turned. "Chi-Chi – get the _yeyo_," he said, indicating the two bags of coke lying near the door. And with that, he left, only pausing on the balcony to see where his target was. Hector was alive, all right. Alive, but badly injured. Tony leapt the steps three at a time to get to ground level, the whooping of police sirens filling his ears from far away. When he finally reached the entrance to the hotel he was just in time to see Hector collapse in agony. He ran around in front of him.

"Your turn!" he yelled into his face as he got back up. "I KILL YOU!!" He relished the look of utter terror on Hector's face as he was shot in the head, and then once in the heart to ensure his death. As soon as he had fallen to the ground, Tony ran over to the car, got in, turned the key in the ignition and drove around to the hotel, just as Manny and Chi-Chi were coming down the stairs. "Come on, hurry up, get in, LET'S GO!" he shouted at them. Chi-Chi carefully but quickly lowered Manny into the car before jumping in himself. Tony gunned the engine and drove off, leaving behind a building full of bodies and blood and _a lot_ of stunned bystanders.

Dusk in Miami, and the sky was turning from a hazy orange to a beautiful pink. A burgundy convertible was parked in a rest stop on the outskirts of the city, and nearby a man in a red-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt was using a public phone. Tony had dialled the number Manny had given him, and was already talking to the person on the other end. "Yeah," he was saying quietly, "Bunch of cowboys. Somebody fucked up."

"Yeah, well, uh, I'll - I'll check it out right away," Omar replied worriedly. He had told Manny to phone him if anything happened, but he was not expecting _this_.

"Yeah, you do that, Omar. You do that," Tony said.

"You still got the money?" Omar asked.

"Yeah," replied Tony gruffly. "And I got the _yeyo_." He looked over at the car and observed Chi-Chi helping Manny with his wound. They had bandaged it and managed to stop the bleeding, but he still needed to see a doctor. Tony knew they would have to take him to a hospital as soon as possible.

"You got the _yeyo_?" Omar asked incredulously.

"Yeah, right," Tony assured him.

"Bring it here," snapped Omar.

"Fuck you," Tony replied calmly. "I'm taking it to Lopez myself, yeah? Not you, me."


	6. Frank and Elvira

**Tony's back! Thanks for all the reviews as well obviously.**

Darkness had well and truly fallen in Miami as Tony and Manny arrived at the huge imposing mansion that was unmistakably the home of Frank Lopez, the most powerful drug lord in Florida if not the entire American southeast. As the pair's car slowed to a halt at the building's impressive main entrance, Tony took a moment to admire the grandeur of Lopez's home, and a smile grew on his face as he envisaged how superior his own mansion would be when he reached the top.

Movement in the corner of his eye brought him roughly back to the present, and his smile died on his lips as he remembered the person driving Manny and himself. Despite managing to arrange a meeting with Lopez in person, Tony had been considerably dismayed when Omar turned up to drive the two friends to it. Dressed in a black and white pinstripe suit, Tony was strongly reminded of a penguin. It was fortunate that this mental image helped suppress the growing hatred he was feeling concerning Lopez's lieutenant. After the slaughter at the Sun Ray – the coke deal with the Colombians having been set up by Omar himself – Tony sincerely doubted that he would ever grow to like Omar Suarez.

As their car stopped at the bottom of the steps leading up to the mansion's main entrance, Tony watched as a waiting doorman stepped forward and opened his and Manny's doors for them. Tony exited slowly, drinking in the lavish environment surrounding him before starting up the steps. On his right, Manny, in a sharp new grey suit, peach shirt and red tie, followed. He had recovered well from his gunshot wound. In his right hand he held a brown leather briefcase, also new, within which was both Omar's buy money for the failed deal as well as the two kilos of cocaine they had escaped with.

Tony and Manny had pooled their meagre earnings from their job at the burger bar before they came, and invested them in both the briefcase and new suits. Wearing his new suit now, a dull blue colour, Tony knew that, especially in a business such as theirs, first impressions were everything.

As the pair made their way up the stairs, Omar quickly jogged by between them, unashamedly putting a firm hand on Tony's upper arm as he did so to get by before heading inside. Momentarily surprised at Omar's continued disrespect for him, Tony mentally gritted his teeth and turned to Manny.

"Nice fucking guy," he muttered under his breath. Manny smiled. Behind them, the doorman entered Omar's car and drove away to park it. One of Lopez's guards, a broad moustachioed Cuban in a plain black suit and white shirt, dropped in behind them as they headed inside.

Tony and Manny followed Omar as he turned left upon entering through the building's open doors and headed down a short corridor – into the main room of Lopez's mansion. Tony took a moment as he walked in to survey it in wonder. Almost everything was white, with a few shots of red and black throughout for contrast. The second floor looked out over them from balconies around the room. Two small glass elevators in red shafts stood motionless on either side of the room – the position of the far one showed that there was a third floor as well. A semi-circular black leather couch sprawled in the centre of the room nearby, in front of some palms and wall-length windows looking out over an outdoor pool and the Miami skyline. Truly, Tony thought, this is what man was put on the earth to achieve.

Tony kept his thoughts hidden though as Omar gestured towards the corner of the room. Exiting the corridor fully, Tony saw that there was a curved bar in the corner, and as Omar spoke a man somewhere in 50s, balding, with a paunch, and in an obviously expensive white suit and an opened-neck baby blue shirt, emerged from behind it with a drink in hand, and approached them.

"Frank Lopez," Omar said, smiling, "Tony Montana."

Miami's dominant crime lord extended his free hand to Tony, smiling broadly. "Tony Montana," he said amicably.

Tony shook Lopez's hand firmly. "Mr Lopez," he said in greeting. "It's a pleasure."

"You can call me Frank," Lopez replied wearily –weariness not directed at Tony, but at the act itself.

"Everybody calls me Frank," Lopez continued. "My Little League Team, even the fucking prosecutors around town – they all call me Frank."

"Okay, Frank," Tony agreed, smiling. Frank smiled back, and shook hands with Manny as well as Tony named him. "He caught one on the job," Tony explained, seeing Frank notice the stiffness in Manny's right arm.

"Went right through," Manny explained, almost shamefacedly.

"We heard about that," Frank replied, appearing deep in thought as his gaze moved between the two. "Omar...he tells me great things about you guys."

This came as a surprise to Tony, who turned to look at Frank's deputy where he stood behind Manny. Looking away from his master, Omar eyes met Tony's defiantly.

"Well, Omar's okay," Tony told Frank after a brief pause, turning back to him. Maybe he didn't know Omar's true intentions, but he decided to go along with him.

"Not to mention of course the nice job you did for me," Frank said, now deadly serious. "That Commie son of a bitch - "

"You don't have to mention that," Tony said, cutting him off. He remembered how Emilio Rebenga had tortured Frank's brother to death back in Cuba. "That was fun."

Frank looked lost for words. "That was fun?" he asked quietly, incredulously.

"Damn right," Tony replied casually, hands on his hips.

"That was fun?" Frank repeated, a smile growing on his lips as he turned to Omar. Omar grinned back at gestured at Tony, as if to say that he and Tony were the best of friends and that he was well accustomed to Tony's eccentricities, as Frank laughed wildly. This was a sign that everyone could relax, and Tony and Manny smiled along with him.

"Hey, what do you want to drink?" Frank asked, his laughter subsiding as he moved back around behind the bar. "Scotch, gin, rum, what do you like?"

"Uh, gin, gin is fine," Tony replied, as he and Manny walked over to the bar as well. "Want some?" Tony inquired of Manny, who nodded. "Yeah, two gins," Tony told Frank. Frank set to working pouring the two gins into glasses on a counter on the back wall. As he did so, he turned to talk with the two men.

"I need a guy with steel in his balls, Tony," Frank explained, smiling as he looked between Tony and the gin he was pouring. "A guy like you. And I need him around me all the time – you, Tony, and your _compadre_ here." At this, Frank gestured towards Manny. While Lopez turned back to the gin, Tony and Manny exchanged glances. Each could see the excitement in the other's eyes – things were going as they had hoped. Seizing this opportunity, Tony reached out a hand towards Manny, who handed over the briefcase.

"Here's the stuff," Tony told Frank, laying the case down on the bar. After undoing the locks, he pulled it open to show the cocaine within.

"Two keys," Tony confirmed, as Frank slowly turned and came towards them, gins in hand and looking silently at the case's contents. "It cost my friend Angel his life. Here's the money," he added, pulling the cash out from beneath the coke and dropping it beside the drugs. "My gift to you."

Frank looked intently at the cocaine and money – and then closed the case. "I'm sorry about your friend, Tony," Frank said apologetically, shaking his head in disbelief at the actions of Hector – the Toad. "If people did business the right way, there'd be no fuck-ups like this.

"Don't think I don't appreciate the gesture," Frank added, after exchanging a look with Omar that Tony found intriguing. Did Omar disagree with Frank's actions? "You're gonna find," Frank continued, " – you stay loyal in this business, you're gonna move _up_. You're gonna move up _fast_."

Frank handed Tony and Manny their drinks, and led them in a toast to good health. "...and you're gonna find out here that the biggest problem is not bringing in the stuff," Frank added, "...but what to do with all the fucking CASH!"

At this, Frank laughed wildly again, and Tony and Manny smiled good-naturedly. Tony found himself liking Lopez. "I hope I have that problem someday," he replied, grinning as Frank came out from behind the bar.

"You're gonna have that problem, don't worry," Frank countered, grinning just the same. "Come on, sit down over here," he said, leading the group over to the leather couch nearby, which sat in a perfect circle of red in the otherwise-white marble floor.

As the group sat down on the couch facing each other, Frank on the far end, Tony and Manny on the other, Tony saw Frank look at his watch. "Where's the hell's Elvira already?" he asked irritably of no-one in particular. "It's late. Go find her, will you?" he said, talking to his guard, who was now pouring himself a drink.

"Jesus!" Frank exclaimed. "Fucking broad. She spends half her life dressing, the other half...undressing!" Frank let out another short burst of laughter at this, along with an obedient Omar, now standing nearby facing the couch.

"She's coming," Frank's guard called over from the bar.

"You got to catch her in between," Tony added, now sitting low in the couch.

"You got to jump on her when she's not looking," Frank agreed, smiling.

"Yeah, that's the best time," Tony said, taking a drink and prompting more laughter on Frank's part.

"Hey, what are you guys doing tonight?" Frank suddenly asked. "You wanna go to a nice restaurant with me? You hungry?"

Tony visibly thought for a moment, before replying "I could eat a horse."

Frank smiled widely at this. "Okay, they're gonna cook you a horse," he grinned.

"Allright, I'll eat it," Tony replied, grinning back. Their plans set, Frank asked Manny about the gunshot wound he received from the botched drug deal. Before Tony could listen in, movement at the edge of his sight caught his eye, and he turned to look.

Entering the third floor elevator was a woman unlike any Tony had ever seen. Somewhere around 30, she wore a long, shimmering aquamarine v-neck dress, held on by jewelled straps crossing her bare back and with a side slit skirt showing off her heavenly legs with every movement. Her shoulder-length bob cut was platinum blond, and she walked aloft in golden high heels.

Tony found himself watching, entranced, as the angel descended to the group's level in the elevator, back turned, one hand on the capsule's handrail and the other on her hip. The Cuban was surprised to find that despite the gin, his mouth was dry, and his heart was pounding in his chest as the beauty exited the elevator on their floor, came around a pillar and walked towards them.

At her arrival, Frank abruptly ended his conversation with Manny and, turning in his seat, addressed her. "Elvira, where the hell you been?" he asked irritably. "It's 10 o'clock, baby, I'm starving." Tony realised with considerable dismay that the object of his desire was the girlfriend of Miami's most powerful criminal.

Elvira continued past the group towards a small open coat room, unfazed. "You're always hungry," she countered haughtily. "You should try starving."

Frank looked confused as Elvira walked past them and into the coat room. Seeing Elvira for himself, Manny shared Tony's look of awe as Frank stood up and walked towards her.

"Where you going?" he asked, frowning. "Come on, come over here! I want you to meet a friend of mine, come on." Frank took the impassive Elvira's hand as she emerged from the coat room, now carrying a small golden make-up case in her free hand. Tony and Manny rose to their feet to greet her. "Tony Montana," Frank announced, beaming, "Elvira."

Elvira gave Tony a customary smile and a good-natured "hello," but Tony could only smile and nod slightly like a fool before Frank and Elvira repeated the process with Manny, who also said nothing, but grinned widely instead. Frank watched the exchange with another growing smile.

"So, there are five of us," Elvira commented casually, looking in her make-up case for something. "Where are we having dinner?"

"I thought we'd go the Babylon Club," Frank announced, arms wide. Tony struggled to prevent his eyebrows raising instinctively in surprise. The Babylon Club – second home to virtually all of Miami's rich and famous. Elvira, however, looked somewhat less pleased.

"Again," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she closed her case.

"Again," Frank agreed, still smiling - this time out of amusement at Elvira's answer.

"You know, Frank," Elvira said, looking directly at Lopez, "if anyone ever wanted to assassinate you, you wouldn't be too hard to find."

"Assassinate me?" Frank repeated. "Who the hell would to kill me? I got nothing but friends!" Frank laughed heartily at his own joke, turning back to Tony and Manny as he spoke. Manny grinned back, but still taken aback by Elvira, Tony could only stare after her as she rolled her eyes again and headed towards another doorway leading out of the main room, passing Omar on the way.

"You never know, do you?" Elvira called back as she left, sounding somewhat annoyed. "Maybe the catcher on your Little League team."

Although "Little League team" was laced with contempt, Frank seemed not to notice. "The catcher?" he echoed. "That son of a bitch, he didn't get a base hit all season! I should kill him!" He cackled.

Still laughing, Frank set his glass down and headed for the main exit, Omar following close behind him. Tony and Manny, after the latter had taken a final swig of his gin, followed suit – followed in turn by Frank's guard. Thoughts of Elvira danced through Tony's head as he led the others after Frank and Omar. Time to end the night in style.

XXXXXXXX

**As always, R&R. Next up – The Babylon Club. Hopefully sooner this time.**


End file.
